We visited many Shinto and Buddhist shrines in Japan in the early 90s. Several were hundreds of years old while others had recently been constructed in the last century. Some were large, ornate compounds visited by thousands of devotees and tourists every year. These impressive temples, some built as far back as the 12th century, are inspiring to say the least. My favorite ones, however, were the small structures set up in random places. These were simple shrines; a tiny hut maybe or just a few piles of stones stacked on one another in the woods, the kind you typically see in a Japanese garden. It was the simplicity of these special places that struck me and made me wonder who took the time to build them…and why?
I grew up in Catholicism, which means (if you are anywhere near my age) I learned absolutely nothing about the Bible. Studying and preaching the Bible was the priest’s job. My job was to sit quietly, repeat the phrases I heard everyone else saying and go to confession. Confession is a difficult concept at seven, but I did my best to come up with things I’d done wrong so the priest and I would have something to talk about. Then, I ‘d go to the pew and say my penance; a few “Our Fathers,” and some “Hail Marys” and other prayers long forgotten. Going to church was just a part of life for many families back then. It was an expectation and a social convention. At least, that was my experience.
Then I met the woman who would become my wife and the mother of my children. She grew up in the Presbyterian Church and her experience was very different than mine. The first time I attended a service with her and her parents, I instinctively knelt down at the pew…nobody else did. The church was tastefully decorated but lacked many of the statues, candles and other trappings of the church of my youth. The pastor had a dry sense of humor…humor was something I rarely saw in my years as a Catholic. I was too young and inexperienced to understand the stoic nature of the Catholic faith. But this isn’t about Catholicism. It’s really about faith, creation and death.
Every culture on the planet contemplates creation and death. Humans made it to the top of the food chain because we have the capacity to intellectualize. I’m sure chimpanzees, dolphins and dogs all have a limited ability to think about things. Our dog, Tig, contemplates new ways to annoy people on a daily basis. But we bipedals have the bandwidth to thoroughly think about life…and death. And everybody does, whether you want to admit that or not. Death is really the only thing that we all have in common. You would think that realization would help us all to get along a little better.
I am on Facebook a lot more frequently than I used to be these days because it’s still the best platform for promoting our little martial arts school. But that means I’m also privy to much of the finger pointing, shouting and general divisiveness permeating social media. Recently someone on my feed went out of their way to express intellectual superiority over us ignorant bumpkins who ascribe to belief in God. And of course any counters to this blatant, unprovoked sucker punch were met with the judgmental conclusion that half of the country “checked the wrong box.” Funny thing is, you rarely see other world religions so admonished as Christianity. Jeeze, what did God ever do to you?
Instead of asking how I could be gullible enough to believe in God, how about we sit down with a cup of coffee or a good bourbon and talk about why? Maybe it’s because I need some sort of crutch to get through life, right? Or perhaps I use my faith as a tool to express my opinion on any number of social issues. I’m not saying that doesn’t happen, but you know, a lot of folks have had educational and life experiences that bring us to one fundamental conclusion: there is more.
How did we get here? Some ascribe to the belief, or the allegory at least, that God created the world in seven days. Enlightened individuals poo poo that notion in favor of the theory that a few atoms got together, had a party and BANG…instant life. Because, you know, that’s way more plausible. What happens when we die? Heaven? Valhalla? Purgatory? Or simply, "lights out, game over?"
My study of other faiths and theories along with time spent living in another country and a completely different culture are a big part of what sold me on God. The idea that someone took the time over a few hundred years ago to build a primitive little shrine in the middle of nowhere tells me that there is a reason to contemplate, to search and to be open to the possibility that we come from more than a little space dust. Furthermore, our capacity to figure things out through the many fields of science humbles me.
But if you really want the main reason I believe in God, it’s death. Science can explain it, medicine can slow it down, but eventually we all die. I’ve seen death and I have experienced tremendous loss. I’ve anguished, I have bemoaned, I have cursed God and questioned His existence. And it is in the silence and lack of answers where I find my answer. It was in some of the tragedies I’ve seen in hospitals and nursing homes. It was in the cross I found next to my mom’s bed after she passed, having led a life of anger toward God. It was in the peace of my wife’s final moments and her courage in knowingly facing what we all face. Her unwavering belief that she would soon be with Christ. There was a light in her face that I had not seen in the 35 years we’d known each other. If you want to dismiss that as some superficial way to comfort myself or lessen my grief, I suppose that’s your prerogative.
I think people who experience the loss of someone very close to them take one of two roads; dismissal or acceptance. It’s easy to remain hurt and bitter. It’s much harder to realize that everybody dies but not necessarily on the timetable we’d like. And if you can follow that path long enough, you’ll see life after death in more ways than one.
You don’t need faith to believe in something that is completely evident. Faith is the capacity to believe in something or someone despite the obvious, or at least the appearance of the obvious.
Let’s stop trying to prove or disprove. Let’s stop pointing fingers. Let’s sit down with a cup of coffee or a good bourbon and talk.
Dave Magliano
Tatsu Dojo
Jissenkan Budo
Dojo Cho
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